


Say Yes

by all_these_ghosts



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_these_ghosts/pseuds/all_these_ghosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An announcement, a watermelon, a decision, and an excess of sap in a happy post-"Requiem" AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Yes

**Author's Note:**

> this is set ~a month after “requiem” in an AU where mulder didn’t get abducted and they all came home from oregon and lived happier ever after. (fatal brain disease? what fatal brain disease?? none here, no thank you)
> 
> thanks to @quod-est-noir on tumblr for this super cute prompt:  
> “Is that a…watermelon?”  
> “I’m pregnant”  
> 

Mulder knocks - twice, then three times - then digs her key out of his pocket to let himself in. Scully wasn't answering her home phone, either, but she'll probably be back soon. He hopes she hasn’t forgotten their standing Friday night - appointment? no, that’s definitely wrong, but it’s not a date, he’s sure she wouldn’t call it a date - because he already picked up a bad movie and way too much Indian food to eat by himself.

When he opens the door he sees that the lights are on in her apartment. She never does that, not Scully; she's conscientious to a fault. On one memorable occasion, they were both undressed and well on their way to home base when she remembered that a lamp was on in the living room. She’d had to pry herself from his arms to go turn it off.

He calls out, hesitant. "Scully?" Nothing.

And her keys are on the counter, and her heels are by the door. He calls her name one more time.

Heart in his mouth, he sets the food and beer down on her table and pulls out his gun. His footsteps echo in the apartment as he prowls through it: the kitchen, the living room. The bathroom, where he peeks behind the shower curtain trying not to think of that scene from _Psycho_. Funny: with so many real-life horrors to draw from, he's still afraid of a movie. He’d rather think of Norman Bates than Donnie Pfaster. _Don’t fucking think about Donnie Pfaster._

The bedroom door is closed. With one hand resting on the knob he closes his eyes, inhales, and then turns the knob and shoves the door open with his shoulder.

Inside, Scully gasps and something extremely heavy thumps to the floor.

Mulder hurriedly puts his gun back, and Scully just stares at him. "Mulder, _what–_ "

But now that he’s seen that she’s alone and evidently fine, his attention is on the floor.

"Scully, is that a...watermelon?"

Her face flushes watermelon-pink and she licks her lips. "I'm pregnant," she says.

It is certainly a watermelon. A cracked watermelon, now.

"Scully, why is there a watermelon on the floor?"

Now she’s confused. "What?"

"The wat—" His brain finally catches up to the conversation. "Oh."

She crosses her arms over her stomach protectively.

“Wait, you’re— _what_?”

“I’m pregnant, Mulder,” she repeats.

Well, that doesn’t sound possible. But here she is, with her eyes soft and her voice softer, and a watermelon on the floor. Before he says anything he works it over a few times in his brain. _Scully is pregnant._

Scully will have a baby, Scully will have a fifth grader, Scully will have a sullen teenager and have to teach it how to drive. Scully, holding that baby in Oregon; Scully, who knows how precious everything good is.

He asks, “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks.”

“Um,” he says, and he really doesn’t know how to ask this next part. “Is it…mine?”

She gives him a look like the answer is obvious. “The pregnancy is approximately eight weeks along, and in the past several years I’ve only had one sperm donor, natural or otherwise. So short of divine intervention, yes, it’s yours.”

“It kind of seems like divine intervention is required either way. Scully, how is this even possible?”

“I don’t know. But they’ve run some tests and as far as they can tell this early, everything’s fine. I don’t know how—“ Her eyes bright and her voice thick; he can’t remember the last time he saw her like this. She presses a hand to her mouth and he crushes her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “You were right. I got my miracle,” she says into his chest.

Mulder kisses the top of her head and holds her close, weighing his next move. He is totally unprepared for this situation. _I’m so happy for you_ is true, but also makes it sound like he’s absolving himself of responsibility when that’s the last thing he wants. And he’s so fucking overwhelmed that he’s not sure he remembers how to say anything other than her name.

At this point Mulder’s brain is operating way above capacity, so what actually comes out is, “Wow.”

This isn’t the wrong thing to say. In his arms Scully laughs and pulls back just enough to look up at him, her hands braced on his chest. “Yeah. Wow,” she echoes, giving him a teary smile. In response to his unasked question, she adds, “I couldn’t figure out how to tell you.”

“This worked okay. Scully, what’s the deal with the watermelon?”

“I’ve been craving watermelon for weeks.” She laughs, a little embarrassed. “I bought this one this morning, and I guess I was just curious to see…” She steps back from him and gestures toward her own flat stomach.

He’s curious, too. _Her boobs are going to get huge_. He is not going to say that out loud. Instead he says, “I’m sorry I broke your watermelon.”

“You did come barging in here like a maniac.”

He grins at her. “But I’m _your_ maniac.”

In the pause that follows, Mulder picks up the watermelon and carries it into Scully’s kitchen. Scully grabs him a cutting board and a knife.

“Do you like triangles or cubes?” he asks, slicing the watermelon down the middle, right through the crack.

“Triangles, Mulder, I’m not a monster.”

Dutifully he cuts the watermelon into wedges and Scully puts them on a plate - except for the first one, which she takes for herself. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her devour it in seconds then nibble at the rind, gathering every last bit of sweetness.

He’s glad that his hands have something to do, even if they’re shaking. “So uh,” he says, “What does this mean for us?”

“Well,” she says, grabbing a second piece of watermelon and taking a bite, “it means that I was wrong about not needing birth control, so we’ll need to rethink that.”

“Right,” he says uncertainly. At least she wants to keep sleeping with him. Her eyes meet his, blue and piercing.

“I want this baby, Mulder,” she says, and her voice is as clear as her eyes. “But I know it’s a lot of responsibility that you never asked for, so if you don’t want to be involved, I’m not—“

“That is not the issue,” he interrupts. And he suddenly realizes that he has no idea what comes next, or what she actually expects from him. Or what she _wants_ from him, and how does he begin to ask that kind of question?

Changing the subject, he says, “Are you going to keep doing field work?” The caveman part of his brain wants her to say no. The brain part of his brain knows that he’s likely to get himself killed without her.

“For a while, yes. Mulder, no one else at the Bureau knows.” Scully hesitates. “Actually, um, no one else knows.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not even your mom?”

She laughs harshly. “And what would I tell her? ‘Mom, I’m having a baby and this time I’m pretty sure it’s entirely human, and by the way, the father is my—“ That’s where she stops, and the look she gives him is pained. “My _what_ , Mulder? We’ve never talked about it.”

“I’d sort of assumed we didn’t need to.”

She looks at him expectantly.

“i just mean…Scully, you know how I feel about you.”

She shakes her head and he groans. He feels like he’s bared his soul to her over and over. Scully just never wanted to hear it before.

“I told you I love you,” he points out.

A smile flirts with the corners of her mouth. “Once,” she says.

“Now it’s twice. You haven’t even said it once.”

The smile fades, and her eyes are dark and trained right on him. Scully says, “I love you”, and his heart does this thing that makes him feel like he’s sixteen years old, even though of course he’s known all along.

“Not that I’m keeping score. Why is this so hard?”

“I’m not good at this kind of thing, Mulder.”

Neither is he, but this seems like the moment to try.

“I’ve been in love with you for _years_. And the last few months have been better than I ever could have—“ He swallows. “Scully. I told you a long time ago that I can’t do this without you, and I meant it. And I…I know I’m fucked up and I know I do stupid things, but I’m going to try to be better.”

“Why?” It’s barely a whisper.

He takes her hands in his and god, his palms are sweaty; he feels like he’s asking her to the prom, and he has to keep reminding himself: _she’s already said yes, a thousand different ways._

“I want to be with you,” he says, feeling brave and a little earnest, and maybe also invincible, “and I don’t just want to be a sperm donor. I want a real life with you, Scully. I want to be a father. It’s what I wanted before, too, but I didn’t know how to tell you because I didn’t know what you wanted from me.” He hesitates, just a little. “I still don’t.”

“I want a life with you, too,” says Scully, her voice cracking. She leans into him.

He puts one hand on her hip and the other cradles the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. He presses his forehead to hers. They’ve waited so long; it feels like he’s always been waiting. Her breaths are feather-light on his lips. He remembers what it was like before he’d ever kissed her, remembers the ache and the heat.

“I don’t want you to have to give everything up,” she whispers, “but Mulder, we can’t have the baby and the X-files. Once the baby comes we can’t put ourselves at risk, we won’t be able to just drop everything and fly across the country—“

He stops her. “Scully, I meant what I said in Oregon. There’s more than that. I want more than that,” he says, and as he speaks the words aloud they become true. Some kind of magic. “It’s time. It has to end somewhere, and maybe this is it. Maybe this is the choice.”

“What if this is what they want? For both of us to just…walk away?”

“Then fuck them,” he says fiercely. They’ve stolen so much from him, from Scully; he won’t let them have this. Mulder wants this baby. He wants to be better than his own father; he wants to deserve this chance.

And more than anything, he wants her to have this. He wants Scully to hold their child, to feel that longed-for weight in her arms.

“I found what I’m looking for, Scully. This started because of Samantha, and I found her. It’s over.” He says, quieter, “It can be over.”

He waits for her to deny it, to ask “are you sure” in that voice that says she doesn’t believe him. She doesn’t.

“I didn’t know how badly I still wanted this until the doctor told me,” she says, and her hands come up to caress his shoulders, the tendons in his neck. They have stood here before, they will stand here again. Moments when the universe condenses to the circle of her arms. She breathes his name.

“We can do this,” he says. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“I love you,” she says, for the second time, and Mulder will stop keeping score after this, because she’s going to tell him more times than he can count and he is going to love her infinitely. 

“Hey Scully,” he says, and when she smiles up at him he does the same thing back, and he can imagine a life like this, where they share happiness instead of trauma. “We’re having a baby.”

And this is a truth he can touch, Scully’s face and her hands and a life they created. This is the truth he chooses. _Say yes,_ he tells himself. _Say yes_.

Their take-out, forgotten, cools on the counter and she leaves all the lights on. And he tells her, over and over.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is stolen, flagrantly, from the poem “vow” by clare shaw, which I heard once at a wedding and has been in my head ever since, especially this part:
>
>>   
> So now I can tell you, quite simply  
> you are the house I will live in:
>> 
>> there is no good reason  
> to move. Good earth,  
> you are home, stone, sun,  
> all my countries. Vital to me  
> as the light. You are it
>> 
>> and I am asking.  
> Say yes.  
> 


End file.
